


One Fine Day

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Drama, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Heterosexual Sex, Post-War, Romance, The Quidditch Pitch: Erotic Couplings, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-13
Updated: 2009-08-13
Packaged: 2018-10-27 17:40:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10813689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: Harry and Ginny ended their relationship two years ago, but Harry has never lost hope of being reunited with his one true love.





	One Fine Day

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).
> 
> **Author's notes:**
> 
> _One fine day,_ __
> 
> _You’ll look at me,_
> 
> _And you will know_
> 
> _Our love was meant to be._
> 
> _One fine day…_

During the middle of a long, sleepless night, Ginny finally reached out from under the covers and pulled the alarm clock toward her. It read precisely twelve minutes past two in the morning. 

_Happy Anniversary! Right on the dot._

Two years ago at exactly twelve minutes past two o’clock in the morning, she had gotten up from the bed she shared with her then lover, Harry Potter, walked out of the flat they lived in (without so much as a “take care, see you later, or fuck off, Potter,” as Harry had bitterly reminded her on more than one occasion) and ended their much-publicized and endlessly speculated-about three-year relationship. 

She almost wished it had been more sudden and dramatic, maybe after a fight or following a tearful confession, or as a show of noble self-sacrifice, even. Anything was preferable to the ever-increasing silence and distance that had marked the agonizingly slow and plodding death of their relationship.

And in reality, it _had_ been sudden; it ended in the thirty seconds it took Harry to ejaculate. 

_With my knickers pushed to the side and my arse nearly slipping off the edge of the kitchen table. Randy bastard!_

For both, the flat they lived in was only a temporary home. Harry had six months of Auror training left, and they had postponed looking for a house together until after he’d completed his final courses and been accepted into the department. Harry was due to graduate in January and they had even discussed a Valentine’s Day wedding. 

_Ah, the wonderful notion of a blissful future, living together as man and wife. What an utter crock!_

They had moved in together after Christmas, before Harry’s final year of Auror training. It was her first year with the Harpies and she was excited about the two of them having their own place and being able to come and go as they pleased. She loved the little flat; she loved entertaining her teammates there and loved Harry’s odd comings and goings at all hours of the day and night, but mostly, she loved the privacy they now enjoyed. They no longer had to search out convenient places (and times) to shag, or even places where they could just be together; now they could share long, leisurely breakfasts in bed, take soothing, hot baths together and stay up all night long softly talking about their dreams and hopes for the future. No more creeping around the Burrow in the middle of the night or locking the door to the small bedroom Harry had in Auror quarters in London hoping they wouldn’t be disturbed. No more embarrassing comments from her mum about the knickers she’d found in the room Harry stayed in during Christmas and no more unbearably juvenile humor from Harry’s fellow Auror trainees about poorly performed Silencing Spells. 

They got on quite successfully together. Neither was overly neat or messy; neither kept odd hours; neither was overly introverted or extroverted. Harry was a wonderful friend and confidante and very attentive and loving, and Ginny couldn’t remember ever being so happy. 

The only adjustment Ginny had to make was to Harry’s odd schedule. He might be gone for two days and then home for three days, or he might work a normal day shift and be home every night for a week. She traveled on occasion and there were a few day matches here and there, but most of the time, she had her mornings off and she was home by midnight. 

When she turned seventeen, her mum had had a short, blunt conversation about sex with her, the tenor no doubt owing to lessons learned by having (or not having in one case) a similar conversation with six boys prior to their mother-daughter talk.

Ginny, much to her mother’s chagrin, found the instruction highly informative and helpful. Molly had even remarked that it was the first conversation she’d had with Ginny in which she hadn’t been interrupted or argued with at least once. 

_She called me quite the eager listener. Eager shagger, more like._

And she definitely was. Eager, that was, not shagger. Not then anyway. Molly strongly advised her daughter against using contraceptive spells. 

“They’re extremely tricky and temperamental. Charlie’s living proof of that! They’re better than nothing but not by much – obviously.”

And besides, her mother pointed out, with a plethora of effective, easily obtained contraceptive potions, why take the chance? A very convincing argument in Ginny’s opinion. 

“There’s an apothecary round every corner, mind you, and it’s nothing to be embarrassed about, either. If you’re old enough to engage in sex, you’re old enough to be responsible about it.”

Ginny couldn’t have agreed more. She had no desire at the ripe old age of seventeen to endure swollen breasts, an enlarged tummy, and an excruciatingly painful labor and delivery followed by three a.m. feedings, smelly nappies and colicky crying. 

Contraceptive potions came in quite a variety, Ginny discovered. There were some for daily use (apparently for married couples or randy teenagers), some you took once or twice a month, some you took for the occasional shag and some designed for single use on a regular basis.

What Molly stressed – very strongly – was that contraceptive potions were meant to be taken well in advance of the event. No hour or two before. At least twelve hours, her mother had warned her. The only method of prevention when one was caught up in the heat of the moment was a spell. 

_And those are tricky and temperamental, I know, Mum! But they’re better than nothing. Constant vigilance. Blah, blah blah._

When she and Harry first began having sex regularly, she’d decided (with Harry’s heartfelt agreement) to err on the side of caution and use the weekly potion. The trouble with the daily potion was that its protection only lasted twenty-four hours and forgetting one dose could possibly result in some loss of effectiveness. Not a risk she felt comfortable taking. She worried a bit that the bi-monthly potion might lose effectiveness toward the end of the two weeks as well, so the once-a-week dose seemed ideal. She marked each Sunday off on her calendar and Harry was always good about reminding her about it. 

When Harry entered his final year of Auror training, things got complicated. He might be gone for a week at a time and Ginny didn’t like taking potions when there was no need for them. Contraceptive potions were not without their side effects, and although she didn’t experience any of the more unpleasant ones, sometimes they did give her an upset stomach and headache. Besides all the fuss surrounding the potions was getting dead annoying. Not to mention they weren’t cheap and you couldn’t stock up; you had to purchase a month’s supply at a time. Shagging was supposed to be spontaneous and exciting, not something meticulously planned for. 

She talked to Harry about her concerns and suggested they try the single-use variety. “That way, I only take when we need it.” 

Harry immediately raised his objection. “I’d rather stick with what’s safe.”

Ginny was starting to hate that word. Safe. With regards to sex, it meant boring, predictable, and unimaginative, not to mention about a thousand other mostly negative descriptions. It certainly didn’t mean creative or passionate or playful; the only image she had when she thought about connecting the words safe and sex was an old fuddy-duddy married couple having standard missionary position sex, under the covers, in their fifty-year-old marital bed, at ten o’clock, every Thursday. 

They argued a bit over it, but Harry, being the caring, sensitive lover he was, finally agreed to the change. And it worked very well. At first.

Ginny pushed the alarm clock away and burrowed down into the soft mattress. Sometimes that day (and the months leading up to it) seemed like just yesterday and sometimes it seemed like something from another lifetime. 

The problem with the single use contraception potion, Dr. Derwent’s Due Diligence, was that she wasn’t always sure when to expect Harry. He was good about letting her know when he expected to finish a mission, and he always knew when he was assigned to desk duty, but once in a while, his missions were completed earlier than anticipated and he showed up a day (or more) ahead of schedule. And when Harry had gone without enjoying the pleasure of her body for several days, he wasn’t very happy about being told he would have to wait at least twelve hours. Her solution was to offer an alternative activity, but, as she quickly learned, Harry had a one-track mind when it came to what he referred to as a “proper shag.” 

_More commonly known as a fuck. Your cock in my pussy._

When she’d clarified the term for him, with a good bit of snark she acknowledged, she had recognized the look on his face immediately. Harry wasn’t straitlaced by any stretch of the imagination, but she knew he disapproved of her using that kind of language outside of the bedroom. 

She wondered now whether the tussle over which potion to use was really about the potion. She remembered feeling some vague resentment about his pronouncement that they ought to stick to what was safe. That was easy for him to say; it wasn’t his responsibility. Any day of the week, he could march into their flat, toss her onto their bed, shag away to his heart’s content and not have a care in the world for it. He didn’t have to worry about contraception, periods or monthly mood swings (or pregnancy fears) and he certainly didn’t seem to struggle with the same sexual issues she did. 

Her parents did not approve of her having sex with Harry, let alone living with him without the benefit of marriage, she knew that, and she didn’t even want to contemplate what her brothers thought of the whole arrangement, their love for Harry notwithstanding. And most distressing, she was beginning to wonder whether she and Harry were entirely compatible in that regard. It was nothing clear cut, nothing glaringly obvious, but there were hints of it. Like the face he’d made when she’d used the words cock and pussy in the kitchen. Little ways that she was starting to feel inhibited, like she couldn’t say or do certain things, or suggest they do certain things. It was sad because they’d always been extremely open with each other; they’d discovered their sexuality together and now, she could almost feel the barriers springing up between them.

And oddly enough, she now recognized that it indicated a power struggle over who was calling the shots in their relationship. Back then, though, all her questions and concerns were firmly buried beneath her love for and attraction to Harry, as well as beneath her devotion to the life they had built together. 

She could see now that to admit the weekly potion had been a better idea was, in her mind, to be subservient to him, almost submissive. Like he was smarter and knew more than she did. Her pride and her need to be right had made her unwilling to admit that she had made a mistake.

It was a blustery, cold day in late March when it happened. It was her final match of the week and the Harpies had soundly thumped the Appleby Arrows. The Harpy Seeker had captured the Snitch early into the game, mostly to put the Arrows out of their misery, and she was headed to the dressing room when she spied Harry dashing up to her, his hair windblown and wild, his cheeks pink from the cold. He was grinning from ear to ear, so happy to see her, and she turned and ran, crying, straight into his arms. 

He wasn’t supposed to be home until the following evening, but their team leader had closed the mission early due to the weather, he told her. They hadn’t seen each other in five, long, miserably lonely days, and the giddy joy she felt wrapped safely and securely in his arms was overshadowed only by the desire she felt with his firm, muscular body pressed tightly against hers. She could feel every part of her body respond to his, and suddenly, his lips were on hers, demanding and forceful, his hands moving through her hair with that strange mix of familiarity and wonder that always made her heart skip a beat. 

“I missed you, so much, Ginny.” That heartbreakingly soft catch in his voice, the slight tremble that told her how much he truly meant that. To be needed that desperately, to be wanted with such ache and tenderness, made her hungry to feel his hot skin against hers, made her long to feel that strong, steady heart beat against her own, and made her weak when she thought about the pleasure that awaited them at home. 

She quickly changed in the dressing rooms and rushed out to meet him. They hurried to their flat and the cloaks and robes were gone the second they stepped inside. They only made it as far as the kitchen table before Harry set her up on the table, unbuttoned his fly, pushed aside her knickers, and plunged in. And it felt absolutely incredible to Ginny. This was what shagging was supposed to be all about. It was demanding and rough and completely physical. It was so easy to give in to the heady feel of his body moving inside hers, to release every pent-up desire and feel that sweet release Harry always drew from her.

Two hours later, as they lay in bed together, curled up and utterly sated (with food and sex) she looked over at the dresser and noticed the vial of Dr. Derwent’s. Oh God, she hadn’t taken the potion! She’d meant to take it tonight after the match so she would be ready when Harry came home tomorrow. 

“Harry?” she said softly, biting her lip nervously, “I think we might have a slight problem.”

_Slight problem? Understatement of the fucking century!_

Ginny yawned, rubbed her face, and looked over at the alarm clock. It was three-thirty now and there was little chance of her getting any sleep tonight. She considered taking a potion to help her sleep and she laughed suddenly at the irony of the situation. Still, she had a busy day today, no lie-in for the Harpy’s star Chaser. She had a signing at Quality Quidditch Supply with her Harpy teammates this morning, but hopefully, she could come home in the afternoon and catch up on some sleep.

 

The End Chapter 1


End file.
